


These Arms of Mine

by EvieSmallwood



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, also featuring: stupid banter, blanket forts?, if you’re looking for any of the above y’all have come to the right place, mentions of abuse, one idiot tickling another idiot with a feather duster, sunny spring days?, the Barrens, two soft boys and some comic books?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: Eddie isn’t sick. He has allergies.Richie comes over anyway, of course. Just to keep him company, heswears.





	These Arms of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahberrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahberrie/gifts).



> It’s been so long since I’ve written any fics for It, but my wife Hannah posted a reddie one-shot the other day and I got *~inspired~* so, here we are. 
> 
> alternative title! “The story of two Softe boys and a bunch of almost kisses”

Saturday mornings are the best mornings. Eddie had decided that long ago; still remained the promise of another day of rest before school, and the almost tangible air of freedom that hung over everything.

It’s still. The world outside his window is utterly picturesque; a painted blue sky and bright green leaves—almost blindingly so. They don’t move at all, aside from the slight jostle one branch gives as a beetle lands on it; shiny metallic wings glinting in the sunlight.

Eddie stares, transfixed, as it works it’s way up the small thin tree, before burrowing into the soil of his garden box.

“Eddie! Are you awake, baby bear?”

Eddie winces as his mother’s voice pierces the tranquil spring atmosphere. She’s calling from some far off corner of the house—maybe the kitchen.

“Yeah, Ma!”

 _Wish I wasn’t_ , he thinks bitterly, folding his covers back and slipping off his bed.

It had been a really, really good dream. He can’t even remember the whole thing, but he knows. He can still feel...

It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream, anyway.

“I’m going to work,” his mother’s voice is much closer, now. The hallway floorboards creak under her weight.

Eddie tries to ignore that dread he’s been feeling lately; creeping up behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tries, but it remains nonetheless.

His door opens. Sonia ducks in, still removing a few curlers from her hair. She gives him a bright (yes, it’s bright, it’s not menacing, _stop_ ) smile. “You’re gonna be okay, today, right sweetie?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his dry lips. “Yeah, ma,” he says. “Go on, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because you had that sore throat last night, and I can always call in, you know—it’s no trouble. Did you need medicine? I have the cherry flavoured kind—”

“It was just allergies, ma,” Eddie says.

“And I know how you hate—what was that?”

“Allergies,” he says again, louder. “It’s gone, now.”

“Oh,” she visibly deflates ( _relaxes_ ). “Well, that’s good.”

Eddie shrugs. “Breakfast?”

“I made eggs!” She replies eagerly, opening the door to let him pass. “And bacon. Only the best for my baby boy!”

 _Oh, god._ He feels the cheek pinch before it happens, wincing when her grubby fingers grasp his skin, hard.

(It’s not anything like Richie’s, some part of his mind whispers, it’s not good. Not welcome.)

He ignores that, though. Like always.

Sonia gives him a little push into the kitchen, but with her, to him, it’s more like a hard shove. Eddie manages to catch himself, settling into his kitchen chair with practised ease. Sonia proceeds to bury his plate with food.

 _I can’t eat all this,_ he thinks.

“Thanks, ma,” he says.

Sonia gives a little pleased titter as she shuffles from counter to counter, applying rouge and putting pots to soak. She looks all... made up. Even though she’s only going to her job at the pet store.

She’s only had it for three months, he reasons, teeth tugging some of the stiff bacon apart. She’s just trying to impress people.

“Okay,” Sonia pats her cheeks. “Good? Good. I’ll be back at five. Don’t touch the stove, and remember to take your vitamins. No, you know, I know how forgetful you can be. Take them for me now, so I can see.”

She reaches for the plastic lettered container in the cabinet, pulling out the ones from the first ‘S’.

Eddie dutifully chews and swallows them, forcing them down as she stares.

His mom smiles. “Thank you, Eddie bear,” she presses a kiss to his forehead. It absolutely leaves a mark. “Okay, I’m going now. Call me if you need anything. The number is on the fridge.”

As it always is. They both look at it.

Eddie works a smile. “Okay, ma.”

“Oh, and another thing,” Sonia smiles back sweetly, but there’s something... rough, around the edges. Something animal ( _stop it, stop it, no there’s not_ ). “Could you clean your room today? It’s looking a little untidy.”

He can’t fault her for that, really. Though there’s nothing on the floor, the drawers are all unorganised and his school things are totally out of wack, given the semester coming to a close.

“Sure,” he nods.

Sonia beams. “Have a good day,” another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, ma,” Eddie says.

She lingers for just a moment, eyeing him, before grabbing her purse and hurrying out. It looks almost like it pains her, which is so stupid, because he’s thirteen, not two.

Eddie pushes the plate away and glares at it, angrily rubbing the lipstick from his forehead. _Gross_.

“Geez, I thought she’d never leave!”

“What the fuck?!”

Richie Tozier is standing in his kitchen. Richie Tozier, holding comic books and VHS tapes. Richie Tozier with crooked glasses and dirt on his knees and wild, tangled up hair.

Richie Tozier.

_What the fuck?_

“Hiya, Eds,” Richie grins, all crooked. “Happy to see me? Yeah, I can tell, I mean take a look at that bo—”

“What are you _doing_ here?!”

“I was waiting by the back door,” he explains. “She never lets up, does she? God, I’d kill myself if my mom was like that.”

Richie Tozier was waiting by his back door? There are questions, so many, that Eddie wants answers to; namely, why? Since when? Did something happen?

Richie answers all three in one go. “I mean for real,” he says, sitting down at the chair opposite Eddie and grabbing some of the disgustingly stiff bacon. “Twenty minutes, I had to listen to her sing along to Little Rich—and if that ain’t enough to turn a guy off his namesake, I don’t know what is. Anyway, I called last night and she said you were sick. You don’t look real sick, though, Eds. Was she pulling my leg or were you pulling hers?”

“Little Richie isn’t your namesake,” is the first thing Eddie manages to blurt.

Richie grins. “How would you know? Maybe I’m like Marty McFly and I can travel through time. Maybe the guy’s my kid.”

“You’re an idiot, Richie Tozier.”

Richie laughs—like, throws his head back, eyes closed, hands around his stomach. Eddie can’t deny it’s a really nice sound, but he won’t say that. He’ll just know it, in his heart, where he knows a lot of things about Rich. Like how his father hit him that one time, or how his favourite color is red, or that he’s really smart under all those dumb jokes, or how his laugh is the best sound Eddie’s ever heard.

“Eds? Hey! Earth to Eddie K!”

Eddie blinks, face flaming. “Shut up,” he smarts.

Richie leans back. “Jeez,” he says, looking wounded. “Let a guy have some concerns, ya know? Anyway, I got some X-Men, and Wolverine, and Batman. I know you like him better than Superman, so...”

He holds up the comics.

Eddie bites his lip. “I can’t, Rich.”

“What? Why not?! I brought Karate Kid!”

He grabs the plate, rolling his eyes, and takes it over to the sink. “I gotta clean up.”

“Clean up? Clean _up?!_ This place is spotless! I mean, other than that stain on the couch cushion, and the dust on top of the fridge,” Richie has already come over, stolen the plate out of Eddie’s hands, and started rinsing it. “Not to mention the box of crap in the closet, or, y’know, _you_.”

He runs the sponge over Eddie’s nose. Eddie gasps, ducking away. “That’s covered in bacteria! Do you know how many millions of germs infest those things?!”

Richie is only giggling, and really, Eddie can’t be too mad. Not when the sunlight is falling on his face like that and his eyes are so warm and—

_No. Be mad._

He manages a frown. “You’re awful,” he states.

“You gonna ask for a refund on best friends? Didn’t you see the ‘no returns’ sign on my ass?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever gonna see your ass, Rich.”

“You sure? I could change that real fast.”

Why is he blushing?

Richie sighs in defeat. “Alright, well what else do you have to clean? Maybe if I help it’ll go faster.”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “Have you ever cleaned anything in your life?”

“Does your mom’s asshole count?”

“Richie!”  
  
“Yes, dear?”

As infuriated as he feels; heat in his belly and cheeks, hand raised to swat, he can’t help but grin. It’s so dumb.

It’s even dumber when Richie reaches out after a heartbeat pause and grabs Eddie’s wrist, pulling him deeper into the house. “C’mon, we’ll watch movies until noon and then clean up.”

It’s really dumb. And it definitely doesn’t send goosebumps up Eddie’s arm.

“Okay,” he says, stupidly.

Richie drags Eddie through the house to his room.

“What a stye,” Richie remarks upon the sight of it.

“I know,” Eddie replies seriously.

“I’m being sarcastic, nimrod.”

“Oh,” Eddie blushes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Eds,” Richie reaches out and pinches Eddie’s cheek. “Cutie, cute, _cute!_ ”

“Richie!” He swats the hand away, rubbing his face, heart pounding. “Don’t do that. You _know_ I don’t like it when you do that.”

Richie waves him off. “Yeah, yeah,” he stalks over to the closet, rolling it open and retrieving the small beat up portable TV. He sets it on the dresser.

Eddie clambers onto his bed, watching uncertainly as Richie fiddles with the wires for the VHS player. His gaze strays to Richie’s hands—long, nimble fingers; and then up his arms, to his jawline. His pronounced, sharp jawline... his freckles... his hair...

Eddie swallows. _Stop that. Stop doing that. Friends don’t look at friends like that._

 _Exactly_ , whispers his heart.

 _Shut up_ , he tells it.

“Okay!” Richie steps back, and Eddie jumps. “All set up.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. Since when is Rich so tall?

“Well scoot over, Eds,” he doesn’t wait, and instead shoves Eddie, even though there’s already enough room.

He drops down right next to Eddie. Right next to him; legs brushing and elbows touching and warmth. _Holy shit._

“Uncomfortable?”

“N-No,” Eddie says. _Damn it._

Richie raises his eyebrows. “You know what’d take this to the next level?”

“Um...”

His lips look soft. Really soft. ( _Stop, stop, stop_ )

“A blanket fort.”

“Right.”

Richie grins devilishly, rolls off the bed, grasps Eddie’s quilt, and before Eddie can fully get off he’s yanking it out from under him.

Eddie stumbles, struggling to keep a balance. “Dick!”

Rich cackles gleefully. “Just gettin’ a chuck in, Eds,” he says.

“Oh you’ll get something in, alright,” Eddie snaps, yanking his pillow away. “My foot in your ass.”

“Just your foot?”

He stops, frowning, with his pillow against his chest. “What else?”

Richie’s grin only widens, but he doesn’t answer, and that infuriates Eddie to no end. He hates when Rich acts like this; like there’s something Eddie doesn’t know, that he should know, and it’s just _so funny, so amusing_ that he doesn’t understand.

“Got any more sheets?”

Eddie throws the pillow at Richie, who ducks with a cry. “Hey! What the fuck?!”

“Turd.”

“What? What’d I do?!”

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Eddie turns around, folding his arms over his chest. He knows it’s ineffective and childish and whatever, but he doesn’t care. As long as Richie knows he’s mad, the cold shoulder method is irrelevant.

But then there’s a weight on Eddie’s shoulder, and arms around his stomach, and _oh my god._

He yelps, ripping himself away.

Richie is kneeling on Eddie’s bed, mock pouting. “C’mon, Spaghetti-Man, I didn’t mean it!” He clasps his hands in prayer. “I swear I’ll be good, I _swear_.”

Eddie glares as hard as he can at the idiot on his bed, with his coke-bottle glasses and his stupid green Hawaiian shirt.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

Richie grins. “Well, I say, I do believe you have Cheerios, good fellow! Come along, young chap! Pip pip and cheerio!”

Eddie follows with as much reluctance as he can feign. Richie is already pouring them two gigantic bowls of cereal when he reaches the kitchen, spilling it everywhere.

Eddie would be mad. But again, with that sunlight, with his tongue poking out between his teeth...

_Stop._

_Why?_

“How can you eat that much?”

Richie shrugs, gesticulating like some Italian chef. “Bone apple tit!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, dropping into his chair.

“You wanna eat here?”

“Where else would we eat?”

“On your bed,” Richie says. “We’ll miss the movie.”

“We are not eating on my bed,” Eddie snaps. “I didn’t even wanna watch that stupid movie, anyway.”

“Karate Kid isn’t stupid,” Rich grumbles, falling onto the chair nonetheless.

They eat in silence for a bit, glowering down at their bowls. Eddie doesn’t really get why he’s so upset; Rich just does this to him. He feels so incredibly frustrated, he could pummel him into the dirt.

He’s just so annoying.

Eddie resolves himself to frowning forlornly at his friend as they eat. But then something catches his eye—something dark and purple on Rich’s arm.

“What’s that?”

Richie freezes. “Nothing,” he says, tugging down the sleeve of his shirt to cover his elbow again.

Eddie won’t have it, though. Bullshit, nothing. No way. He grabs Richie’s arm. “That’s a bruise!”

Richie jerks away. “Shut up!”

It wouldn’t be a big deal if it didn’t look like that; like someone had grabbed him. Someone older, with bigger hands. Hard enough to leave a mark, Jesus Christ.

“Richie...”

“Stop,” Richie says firmly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ —”

“Leave it alone, Eddie,” Richie snaps.

And so Eddie has no choice but to listen, because no one argues with Rich when he’s actually serious. It’s like, against the laws of nature.

He stirs the remainder of his Cheerios around, appetite gone.

“Okay, done!”

“It’s been like five minutes!”

“So?”

 _Unbelievable_. Eddie miserably takes a last few bites of his cereal, knowing Richie won’t stand to let him actually finish, and then lets himself be once again led away to his bedroom.

He stands by for a few minutes while Richie props sheets up with various items, before eventually joining in to help. He’s so incapable, he can’t even use a paperweight to hold down a blanket...

It’s only as they’re both crawling into the fort that Eddie wonders why the hell they’re even doing this, and why can’t he just have one day _alone_ —

“Good?”

Inches. They’re inches apart. And why would he ever want to be without Richie? What a stupid fucking question.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods.

Rich beams. “Good.”

Then Richie focuses his gaze on the TV, visible given they have a whole side flap open. But Eddie can’t stop staring, because Richie’s freckles are like stars, and he’s pretty sure if he drew a line between each one some beautiful constellation would become visible.

He’s close enough to touch them.

But he doesn’t. Instead he watches the stupid movie, very aware of every shift and breath and accidental touch.

And then the touches don’t seem so accidental.

Eddie could totally be overthinking it when Richie’s arm—that bruised arm, the one he can’t stop his gaze from flitting to—brushes against his for the second time in a row, or when his knee skips over Eddie’s, or when—

When his fingers gingerly graze his palm, slowly inching upward before intertwining with Eddie’s own.

His heart is beating so loud. He can’t breathe.

Richie catches his eye, squeezing his hand. “Good?”

Eddie nods, even though he’s not so certain this isn’t just another dream. “Yeah.”

It’s more than good. It’s... electrifying. He’s pretty sure this is what it feels like to be struck by lightning.

Richie doesn’t seem as affected, though; he settles back down against the bed, lip between his teeth. Eddie has no choice but to look away, even though he really, really doesn’t want to.

It isn’t long, though, before he hears it.

Sniffling.

Eddie tears his gaze away from Karate Kid, which is nearly over—even though he hasn’t been paying attention, it must be. It’s been like over an hour.

Richie is crying.

Eddie lays there, dumbstruck for a whole minute. “Why are you crying? It’s not even sad,” he inquires, like a heartless idiot.

Richie squeezes his eyes shut tight. “I’m fine,” he manages.

He’s not, though. Clearly.

“Rich?”

“It’s just...” he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes now wide and magnified behind his frames, “I wish I was stronger, y’know? I wish I could...”

 _Protect myself,_ Eddie thinks.

“That’s okay, Rich,” he doesn’t know what he’s doing, really, but he does it anyway; hand tightening around Richie’s, scooting infinitesimally closer. “Not everyone has to be tough.”

“But if I was,” he breathes, eyes unseeing, “maybe...”

“I like you just the way you are,” he blurts.

Richie blushes, and if that isn’t the most glorious sight Eddie’s ever seen, he’s a fucking horse.

_I did that. Wow._

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “I do.”

A half smile breaks the broken expression on Richie’s face. “Okay.”

The movie is over. Eddie bites his lip, about to get up to take the tape out, when Richie’s arm coils around his waist and pulls him closer.

Closer than close.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I’m cold.”

“It’s May.”

Richie’s nose is pressed against the back of Eddie’s neck. He can’t inhale, holy shit, is his asthma acting up—? “Pretend it’s raining.”

Eddie breathes out. He doesn’t pretend it’s raining. He just quiets, paying very close attention to the beat of Richie’s heart against his own back, and this feeling of being so connected, so entangled. It’s like they’re one person.

There’s nothing better than this, Eddie decides.

Warm, soft lips press against the side of Eddie’s neck.

Scratch fucking that, he thinks, eyes wide. A chill runs down his spine, warmth filling his stomach. He shivers.

“See?” Richie’s breath is hot against Eddie’s neck. “Cold.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says.

Richie only holds him tighter.

* * *

They fall asleep, Eddie supposes. It’s been a few hours, given the brightness of the room.

Richie is gone.

For a moment, there’s only sheer disappointment, coupled with the coldness his absence creates. Eddie can’t help it when his cheeks color, remembering the way he’d let Rich hold him, let him kiss him.

( _But wasn’t it just fantastic?_ )

( _Shut. Up._ )

He can’t believe he actually misses the feeling of being... touched that way.

(a way he’s never really been touched before; so full of authentic love and hesitation, laced with some need and determination that’d made his heart explode and his skin burn. the solidness of richie had really almost killed him, and the way he’d held eddie so tightly...)

Eddie finds him in the living room.

He’s straightening up the clutter.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Richie replies, and obviously.

“Yeah, but why?”

“You said you had to,” Richie fixes the cushions and tucks a stack of magazines out of sight. “But you were sleeping and I wasn’t, so...”

He wasn’t sleeping? That whole time he’d just been wide awake? Relishing in what Eddie had missed?

_Fuck sleep._

“Surprised you didn’t set the place on fire,” Eddie remarks. Why? _Why?_

Richie only grins, though. “I thought about it, trust me.”

He feels like an idiot, standing there while Rich cleans his house. And so the only solution is to go over there and help him.

They work silently, scooping up crumbs and throwing away last week’s mail, fluffing the cushions, airing out the house. Then they move to the kitchen, scrubbing the counters and the stove.

Eddie washes the dishes. Richie dries.

“So...”

He bites down on his tongue, uncertain.

Richie is half eyeing him as he sets a plate in the cupboard. “Well spit it out, Kaspbrak, the suspense is killing me!”

“Why’d your dad grab you like that?”

Richie’s face falls. Eddie can almost hear his stomach drop.

They don’t speak. The water runs over Eddie’s hands, but he can’t feel it. It’s too hot and his hands are too numb and god, everything is numb.

“Why do you think it was my dad?”

Eddie shrugs. “Your mom wouldn’t.”

Richie’s mom is nice. Teasing, playful, sarcastic. There’s no doubt in Eddie’s mind, it _wasn’t_ her.

“Yeah,” Richie shrugs, grabbing another plate, “I guess so.”

“Why’d he do it, then?”

Richie pauses. He taps the plate, contemplating. “He was drunk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rich nods. “He doesn’t... he doesn’t get like that often. Mostly when Mom visits her family out west—she was gone all last weekend, remember?”

Eddie swallows. He hands over a bowl. “Yeah.”

“Dad went out with some friends. He never gets to do that when she’s here because she doesn’t like it—and I can see why, Jesus. Anyway, he came home wasted and yelled a lot and threw shit around and I told him to stop, so he grabbed me.”

“That’s it?” Eddie doesn’t know why he asks, but he has to. “Just grabbed you?”

Richie’s jaw clenches. “He hit me.”

They both pause, almost like they’re letting the words breathe. Eddie hates that they were ever spoken. He hates that they’re true.

Richie isn’t crying, though. Even the tension is gone as soon as it comes. His face breaks into a wide smile. “But hey, it’s all in the past, Spaghetti-man! I’ve seen worse, remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie blinks down at the basin, hoping to god Richie doesn’t see the tears in his eyes. “I guess so.”

Richie shrugs. _No big deal_ , it says.

But it _is_ a big deal. Even if Richie won’t say, it is.

* * *

They move to Eddie’s room after that, slowly working their way through his clothes and belongings.

Richie opens Eddie’s nightstand drawer. “Why, I’ll say! Condoms, young man?! Now just what would you be doing with these?”

“Those are effervescent tablets, Richie.”

“Effer-whata?”

“Alka seltzer.”

“Your mom stick ’em up there to get rid of those pesky sperms?”

“Like my mom is getting any action.”

It makes Richie laugh. Like, a lot. It’s sort of the best sound Eddie’s ever heard in his whole life.

“Real chuck-a-licious Eds,” he says.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m glad. Now, where are those comics?”

“Oh, we’re done? Thank god. I was about to blow my fucking brains out.”

“Shut up,” Eddie throws the duster at him, which of course only spurns Richie, and before Eddie knows it he’s being chased around his own room, laughing uncontrollably as Richie tickles him with the stupid thing.

“Stop! Stop, please!”

“Begging is a good tactic,” Richie muses. “But not good enough.”

He’s sitting on top of Eddie. Pinning his arms down with one hand and brushing the duster over his nose with the other.

Eddie blows a feather from his mouth. “I’ll kill you!”

“Oo, threats! Well, I’m afraid that won’t work, either.”

He scowls. “What will?”

“How about...” Richie leans down a little, dropping the duster, eyes on Eddie. “A kiss?”

_Holy fucking shit._

Eddie can’t breathe. Like, he really can’t breathe. It becomes noticeable soon enough, given the way Richie’s eyes widen and he relinquishes his hold. “Eds, relax, I’m just kidding—”

Eddie waves him off, crawling up onto his bed, struggling with the sheets. Every movement is dizzying. He can’t _breathe_.

Richie beats him to it, though. He retrieves the inhaler from Eddie’s nightstand, places it against Eddie’s mouth, and squirts.

_Thank god._

Eddie gulps, panting. “It’s just ’cuz you sat on me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Why does he have to grin like that? It’s so infuriating. Like he _knows_ something.

“It is.”

Richie cocks his head. “You okay, Eds?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fucking _fine_ , Richie!”

Rich holds up his hands. “Okay, Jesus, I’m just making sure.”

Eddie glares. Resentfully, he jerks the flap down on the fort.

It comes back up. Richie jumps onto the bed. “Can’t escape that easy, Eds,” he grins. “I’ll blow your house down.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Gotta say the magic words!”

“Beep fucking beep!”

Richie seems to relish in the way all the blood has travelled to Eddie’s face, in the way he’s frowning and leaning forward with rage and— _oh_.

All of his anger melts away. He’s unable to stop his gaze from drifting down, to Richie’s lips. They look so soft...

Eddie bites his own. He knows what’s about to happen, knows it. He can feel himself leaning forward, caught in some gravity.

It’s just when their lips brush, slightly parted with shock, yes, soft, good—a thousand butterflies explode in his stomach—that the phone rings.

“Fuck!”

“ _Eddie!_ ”

Eddie rolls out of bed and storms down the hall. His blood is boiling. _Why, why?_ Can’t he have anything good?

“Hello?”

“Eddie, dear! It’s mommy! I was just calling to check up on you, since I’m on my break and all. How are you feeling? Are your allergies alright?”

Eddie rests his forehead against the wall, balling up his free fist. “They’re fine, Ma.”

“Oh, that’s good! You haven’t gone outside, have you? That’ll only make them worse. Stay inside. Did you clean your room? Remember, you have to dust, or you’ll never stop sneezing.”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“Okay, alright! Well, I have to go, now. I’ll be home in two hours. Five fifteen on the button.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Eddie-bear!”

“’Love you, Ma.”

He hangs up first, because he knows she won’t.

Richie is standing in the hall. His cheeks are pink. Eddie looks him up and down. “Let’s go outside.”

* * *

It doesn’t take much convincing. They grab a blanket, the comics, and a bag of chips, before heading out to the Barrens.

They’re blissfully empty. Eddie doesn’t know what the other Losers have going on, today, but he’s eternally grateful they’re not around.

They don’t even use the stupid blanket.

Richie lies down next to Eddie. The sky above them his half obscured by a canopy of branches, green and brilliant; almost blinding.

As Eddie watches the clouds, Richie starts reading the comics. He does different voices for each character, yet somehow, it’s peaceful. Every pause makes Eddie’s breath catch, because he doesn’t want it to stop. He never wants to stop hearing Richie’s voice.

His annoying, sometimes exaggerated voice.

Eddie rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an arm. With the other, he reaches out and pushes Richie’s sleeve up, revealing the bruise he really can’t get out of his head.

Richie gasps a little. Eddie relishes in that a ridiculous amount, goosebumps forming on his skin. “I wish that hadn’t happened to you.”

_I don’t want anyone hurting you. Ever._

“It’s okay, Eds,” Richie’s lips quirk up, “good stuff happens to me, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like you.”

No hesitation. No window for thought. Just...

A kiss.

Eddie leans down, without considering the consequences or really caring about them anyway. He just needs to. He _needs_ to let him know.

His lips press against Richie’s cheek—close to his mouth, but not close enough, really.

It lasts maybe two whole seconds before Eddie pulls away, face on fire, shaking.

Richie smiles. It’s one Eddie’s never really seen before; full of some soft, almost amorous affection.

“What was that for?”

“I felt like it,” Eddie says.

Then he lowers his head onto Richie’s chest and closes his eyes. He doesn’t care. He’d die just to do that again, to have Richie do it back.

Instead, Richie’s fingers run through his hair. Once, experimentally, and then again. It feels better than anything has ever felt.

Richie keeps reading. His chest vibrates with each word.

Eddie falls asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, the sun is setting.

_Oh, shit._

“Richie? Richie! Wake up!”

“What? Huh?”

“What time is it?”

“Huh?”

 _Fuck this._ Eddie grabs Richie’s arm, squinting to see the little digital numbers on the watch.

5:05.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I gotta go,” he stands, brushing off his jeans and reaching for his stuff. “My mom’s gonna be home, and if she finds out I left the house she’ll kill me—”

“Okay,” Richie stands, too. “It’s okay, it’s fine. Just go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie starts moving, bordering on hyperventaling—ten minutes, and she might come back early, she might already be there—

“Eddie, wait.” A hand clasps around his wrist. Richie pulls him back.

No space.

Richie’s lips are warm and soft against his own. They’re just a little bit chapped, a lot perfect. His mouth is parted just slightly over Eddie’s. Every nerve in his body is tingling, but he’s melting at the same time.

Chest against chest. Richie’s arm around his waist. Nothing else. Just lips moving against lips for a whole twenty seconds.

Then Richie pulls back. He’s all swollen, pupils blown, grinning.

Eddie can’t move.

“Well?!” Richie gives him a little shove. “Go!”

“Okay! Jesus! I’m going!”

He goes, grinning like an idiot all the way home. And thank god, his mother’s car isn’t parked in the driveway.

Eddie closes the front door behind him, taking in the silence of the house. He touches a finger to his lower lip.

“Holy shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Idk how good it was considering I’m so rusty with these characters, but I hope it was at least bearable lol! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated :D
> 
> Also please dear god come bother me on tumblr: @mad-maxxy
> 
> I’m so desperate...


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